Кровь в бассейне
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: This is no longer just a game to be played in Australia, just a competition between countries; this is whether Ivan Braginski will get Héderváry Erzsébet for his own. And Ivan, well, he wasn't one for losing. / Written for Eastern Euro Funk Fest. One-sided Russia/Hungary.


Author's note: Written for LJ's Eastern Europe Funk Fest; prompts were Russia, competition, 1900. One-sided Russia/Hungary, 1956's Blood in the Water match.

Vanya, you's a creep.

* * *

**Кровь в бассейне  
**_Melbourne-i vérfürdő_  
Blood in the Water match

Ivan takes in the scene before him from one side of the pool. His fellow Soviet Russians were watching the Hungarian team in the pool train before the upcoming Summer Olympics but Ivan, he had come to watch something much more beautiful.

In the late day's light her hair shines a delicious brown, sliding over her bare shoulders as she walks up and down the side of the pool, whistle between her lips though she's yet to blow it. Her eyes are purposely avoiding his, he knows; as she turns they always flicker up to where he is but never fully cross over him, never lets her green gaze match his harsh purple one. But when they flick to him his blood pumps and the outside of his vision goes just the tiniest bit red. Ivan loves the thrill of it all.

They would win this year, they would crush the Hungarians and remind them that though the world may cheer for them, they were Soviet property. And then Ivan would make her his.

* * *

Down the mountain the rising smoke is visible, gunshots ringing out throughout Budapest unmistakable. The team tries to continue to practice but their Hungarian nation has given up, standing as close as she can to the window, looking down on her capital. Ivan imagines the itch under her skin, the feeling that something is going on though she is not allowed down to see what. He himself feels the pull, Hungary trying to free itself from Soviet control; what he also feels that she never will though are the tanks advancing to crush this so-called Hungarian Revolution.

Her head turns suddenly and as if in slow motion Ivan watches the whistle tumble from her lips, how it falls on its cord down to between her breasts covered by her swimsuit, her thighs shifting beneath small shorts, her eyes finally meeting his. Her face is open but the Hungarian's gaze is like ice; Ivan knows all about ice.

He smiles and her face twists in anger.

* * *

In Czechoslovakia the team continues to train, Ivan never missing a day of their practice. Further away the Hungarian beauty he longs to claim his own is kept uninformed about the goings-on in her capital. She would hate him even more when she came to discover the full extend of suppression, and that would make it harder to win her.

This is no longer just a game to be played in Australia, just a competition between countries; this is whether Ivan Braginski will get Héderváry Erzsébet for his own. And Ivan, well, he wasn't one for losing.

* * *

The Netherlands, Spain, and Switzerland, he learns on the plane, will not be competing in protest of Soviet treatment of the Hungarians; he slips the paper into his pocket before Héderváry can read it beside him. Instead he lets his arm go around her shoulders, pulling her to him to kiss her hair. Her body is stiff, unwilling, but Ivan doesn't care. It's a long flight to Melbourne and she's no where to run away to, trapped between him and the window in the front of the plane.

Héderváry puts her hand on his thigh; she learned long ago that Ivan likes when she does that, and so he releases her. So long as her hand is on his leg, his arm need not be around her shoulders: that is the game they play.

* * *

She confronts him in the Olympic Village. Ivan loves it when she starts their arguments.

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" He knows immediately what she means.

"Must I report to you now?" The way Héderváry huffs, the way her chest rises and falls and her nose twitches, all excite the Soviet.

"Then I suppose you also know my athletes have vowed to not return after the games." With interest he notes it's not a question. Ivan smirks.

"Oh, I know." The truth was Ivan didn't care if all of the Hungarian athletes defected to the West, so long as their nation incarnate came back with him. Ivan finds he doesn't care about most things these days, beyond that woman with a spirit that no one has ever broken. How he longs to be the one to break her, to make her cry, to make her scream his name and beg for her mercy. He would show her mercy, he wasn't so cruel as to deny a woman of her beauty it when so kindly asked for, but in return Héderváry would have to be his. His vision fills with a sort of red haze as she raises one slender eyebrow above a green eye.

"You will not stop them." Again, not a question. The defiance only makes him lust for her more.

"If you try and leave me," he starts and she shutters at the implication. Then Ivan thinks of something better, to up the competition in their little game. "How about this? When my team wins the water polo match, you must come to my bed."

"And when my team wins?" Héderváry challenges back. Ivan simply takes a step forward to look down on her, her head fully tilted back to meet his gaze as it sweeps over her exposed chest, before turning and walking away, laughing to himself.

* * *

Ivan doesn't bother going to most of the Soviet competitions. Instead he follows Héderváry, sitting across from whatever event she's watching to watch her.

She was truly the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes upon. Her skin had become milky, creamy, from the days he forced her to spend inside in the big house back in the Soviet Union. He gave her mundane tasks to do instead of the hard labor the other women in the house did, to keep her skin soft; he didn't want rough skin touching his naked form when she finally relented. That Hungarian body was one of Ivan's favorite things to fantasize about: the curves of her hips, the dips of her waist, the strength of her thighs, the swells of her breasts. He would lavish those breasts as he threw her on his bed, naked, tears streaming from her eyes as she moaned his name, over and over, finally his.

When he's satisfied watching her across the space Ivan rises and returns to his room, to his prostitute that he fucks imagining she's Héderváry. It's never quite the same though, never satisfying enough.

* * *

At dinner tonight the Soviet nations sit together, isolated. The dull roar of conversation is only interesting to Ivan when Héderváry speaks; at the moment she is asking Beilschmidt about his brother, because the two Germanys were competing as one team. The Hungarian smiles at the German and Ivan's mind goes blank save for the need to kill that man. A hand on his, one of his sisters, calms him.

It would never do to kill Gilbert Beilschmidt; Héderváry likes him too much, and that would only give her more reason to hate her Soviet controller.

Patience, Ivan reminds himself, patience.

* * *

The night before the water polo match Ivan lays in bed, his body reacting of its own accord as he imagines the victory tomorrow against the Hungarians, Héderváry having to come to him. His breathing becomes shallow, his cock hard, but he doesn't need the prostitute as his hand slips down his body. No, the rapidly approaching victory was all he needed until tomorrow night. He would fuck Héderváry like she's never been fucked before and she would love it.

* * *

Going into the match the odds are very much in the Soviet team's favor: if they beat Hungary they would be tied in their bracket and only have to then beat the last-place German team to win gold. Hungary, on the other hand, would have to beat the Soviet team for silver and then beat the strong Yugoslavian team to take gold. Ivan's mouth waters in anticipation of how quickly Héderváry will be his.

And as he makes his way into the area where the match would be taking place he's cut off by Héderváry herself, who looks very proud and very sporting in her red, white, and green outfit, arms and upper chest still bare, still creamy. "Hello beautiful," Ivan purrs, not bothering to hide his lust. The Hungarian only seems emboldened by his words, stepping in closer to speak.

"When we win," she purrs in response and Ivan raises an eyebrow at the defiance. "When we win, what will be my prize?"

The Soviet snorts, watching others pass before letting his gaze fall back on Héderváry. Good God her green eyes shone as they took him in; he had to fight the urge to ravage her right here and now. "Your freedom," he whispers. "I would let you defect with your team."

A moment passes where Héderváry seems to contemplate the offered prize before nodding and turning, marching away. Ivan admires her ass that would tonight be bare before him; she'd never be free of him.

* * *

The Hungarian team taunts the Soviets in Russian; that's very smart of them, Ivan does admit. From his side of the pool he can see the spectators from so many countries, all cheering for the Hungarians. What idiots they were, shouting, "Hajrá Magyarok!", Go Hungarians! Héderváry, among them, is flush-faced and alive.

It was as if the fights from Budapest had come to the pool, those emerged Hungarians fighting for their country. This was more than just a competition for them, a friendly match between fellow countries; this was about pride, this was about defiance. They were Hungary, not Héderváry, and Ivan admires their passion even if it is misplaced.

The penalties, the punches, the violence rapidly accumulate as the semi-final game moves forward, Ivan trying to control himself from getting too into the game. Héderváry, he can see, jumps and cheers along with the other spectators, clapping as Hungarian hands connect with Soviet bodies, booing when Soviet ones meet Hungarian faces.

Too soon the score is 4-0 in favor of Hungary, and Soviet Russian Valentin Prokopov punches Soviet Hungarian Ervin Zádor in the eye. Ivan's watch follows Héderváry as she rushes down to be with Zádor, to inspect the damage and to speak with one of the Hungarian officials on their side of the pool. In that moment Ivan hates Prokopov, hates him because Héderváry's eyes fall on him before falling on the Soviet nation and she smiles, truly smiles, and they both know this game is lost. Ivan doesn't believe in miracles; they can't come back to beat the Hungarians.

* * *

In the end the game was stopped to prevent a riot from breaking out, police shepherding away the angered spectators. Hungary, Ivan later learns, went on to beat Yugoslavia 2-1 for gold. He's not there to watch the game; he can't bring himself to do it.

"Congratulate me," Héderváry announces as she enters the room; he doesn't have it in him to lift his head and meet her gaze. How stupid he had been, to be so sure that she would be his. "Braginski?"

"If you are here," he starts through gritted teeth, "to try and deliver some smug speech, get on with it then."

Her feet come into view, between his, as she comes to stand so close to him. Ivan finally looks up at that, up over her thin body and large breasts to see her looking down on him the same way he had looked down on her when they made their bet. "I've come to claim my prize, for another."

"What do you mean?" He had promised her freedom; wasn't that what everyone wanted, to get away from the Soviet Union, from him, as quickly as possible?

"I want you to let Gil leave," Héderváry says in an even tone. "If I left Hungary I would be running away, I would be no good to my people. I fully intend on staying and fighting with them, against you. But Gil has his brother; he should be the one to go west, to be with his family. I would even give myself, to you Braginski, to ensure you let him go."

Several minutes of silence pass where no one says anything. Ivan wonders once more at this beauty before him, how she could be so compassionate, how she could be so selfless. She had a sharp tongue and a mean punch but she could still be so loving, so everything Ivan isn't. Was there anyone else who would ever surrender their freedom for him? No. And yet if their places had been switched Ivan can imagine Beilschmidt asking that Héderváry be allowed to go, because they were family, they were blood. They understood.

Ivan understands nothing.

"You were never going to let me go," Héderváry finally whispers, shaking her head in disgust. "You sicken me."

"I did not think you were going to win." It is the truth, perhaps one of the few times he has ever given the Hungarian the truth. "But I cannot let either of you go." Even he did not have that kind of power; Ivan lets his head drop forward once more.

One hand, one soft, sweet, gentle, feminine hand, reaches forward, coming into his line of vision. Ivan grabs the hand hungrily, pulling it to his lips to kiss over and over before Héderváry yanks it away from him, shaking her head. "I pity you," she murmurs before turning and leaving, head held high, a spirit no one, not even Ivan, could break.


End file.
